What it is to Burn
by Qui-ti
Summary: Buffy is still reeling from the effects of being brought back to life, when a new Big Bad possesses the only person she can trust and turns them into an enemy... and then turns her. Season 6, Life Serial: Buffy Vamp fic
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers.

A/N: This is just an idea that I had. I hope you enjoy. :) This first part takes place when Buffy and Spike are drinking in his crypt in _Life Serial_. The beginning dialogue is from that scene, but I take it my own way from there. :)

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_**What it is to Burn**

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_

_Chapter 1_

"You're a creature of the darkness. Like me." She looked at him and he could see the longing in her eyes, the curiosity, the desire--the façade of the peppy girl the others knew vanishing and leaving the visage of the woman within her. She wanted him. He could feel it. She wanted to know what it was like, what could possibly possess anyone to live in the shadows, to stay away from the light for an eternity. And she wanted him to show her.

At that moment, all the restraint he had been practicing since she had come back to life melted away, and he huskily murmured an invitation. "Try on my world. See how good it feels."

Buffy gave him a sly smile, the alcohol in her system clouding her gaze but not past the point of awareness. She knew that he had seen into her when those tempting words had so smoothly cascaded from his lips; the mood was too serious and she was feeling vulnerable. Trying to think of something to say to lighten the mood and make him stop staring at her with that intensity, a sharp stab of terror penetrated her dazed mind when she saw something inside of Spike's deep blue eyes change. He was no longer looking at her with the slightly patronizing and adoring gaze he had worn all night, nor with the desirous and tempting dark stare. There was something else there… something alien, unfamiliar… something not the vampire she had come to know.

"Spike?" she asked tentatively, hating the unfamiliar fear in her voice but the alcohol in her system taking a stronger hold on her uneasiness. His eyes narrowed at the word and suddenly, the deep azure gaze was a piercing yellow, his ridges emerging as well and a deep growl emanating from his throat. Buffy leapt from the coffin and pulled a stake from her jacket, dropping it uselessly when the vampire before her seized both her wrists fiercely and pulled her body to his.

"You're going to know what my world is like, love," he hissed, the voice she was hearing his own but at the same time, _not_. His gaze was locked on hers and she could do nothing but stare. Futilely, she made an effort to kick him with her unrestrained legs, but he turned her away from him, pressing her against the sarcophagus and trapping her body with his own. A low moan of terror emerged from her throat as Spike nuzzled the back of her neck, gripping her wrists tightly and holding them against the stone. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of something, _anything_ to do to make this situation end but unable to come up with a single thought.

All that she felt was pain as he pierced the flesh of her neck with his fangs and drank deeply from her. And when his pale wrist dripping with blood was proffered to her, she drank just as deeply from him.

* * *

It was death. 

Something familiar to her.

Others feared death. Why they would never was clear to her. Death was merely a change, not an end. Some might even say that it was a gift. But this change was different than the others that she had experienced before.

She was dead, but still within herself. Still aware of her body, as it was thrown carelessly through the trapdoor and then dragged along the earthen floor. Still could feel the cold shackles around her wrists as she was chained to the surprisingly soft bed. Still could see those piercing yellow eyes through the darkness.

And then they were gone. And she was alone again, but not herself. She would never be herself again.

* * *

There was darkness, and then there was light. 

Nothing could have prepared her for this. The strength coursing through her veins in proportions that she could never have imagined--not even as Slayer had she known this power. There was more to that, though. Something that made the Buffy within her claw at her insides, at this intrusive enemy that craved the liquid that she could still taste on her lips. The metallic tang had not faded away, but there was something more to it now… something sweet?

With a rush of energy, Buffy came to the surface, gasping for unnecessary air and pulling roughly at the chains binding her to the bed. She could see, smell, hear _everything_. The scent of her Sire reached her and another burst of energy made quick work of the shackles, pulling not only the links of the chain apart but breaking the iron around her wrists. Pain barely registered as she threw herself to her feet and climbed up the ladder to the upper level of the crypt.

He didn't notice her. It was strange that he wouldn't, as he surely must have known that she would kill him. The fallen stake from their earlier struggle caught her eye and she surreptitiously picked it up, the familiar feel of the wood in her hands a comfort. Taking slow, even steps, she approached the vampire sprawled out on the couch, the muted television casting strange shadows about the room.

As she was finally able to see his face, she realized he was sleeping. Her blood was still lingering about his lips, giving them a dark red tint that was in sharp contrast to his pale skin. His face looked peaceful, almost unaware.

It was infuriating.

Buffy let out a roar of rage and her vampire face surfaced, Spike opening his eyes immediately after the sound. For a moment, as they stared at one another, she could still see the evil within him, the demon that had possessed him before. But that faded away in an instant and he was on his feet, tears in his eyes and an unbelieving expression on his face.

He didn't know what he had done. He didn't remember. It hadn't been _him_.

"Buffy?" he choked out, but she was gone, running out the door and into the night.

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A/N: I'm aware that it wouldn't be very likely for Buffy to actually drink from Spike, but this is kind of an idea that I had and if you could suspend your disbelief for that _one_ little scene, the whole story will be very believable. :) Please R&R! 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Woot! Next chapter! Please review! Btw, the title of this fic comes from the song of the same name by the band Finch. :)

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What it is to Burn** **

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**__Chapter 2_

The darkness had never been foreign to Buffy, but now it was more than just familiar. It was comforting. More comforting, in fact, than her home, of whose shadows she was currently lurking in. The knowledge that she was unknowingly taking on the persona of Spike did nothing but strengthen the angst she felt, but as the light in her sister's room turned on and revealed the shadow of Dawn against the curtains, the Slayer felt nothing but an immense, aching emptiness.

They were all there in her home. Waiting for her, probably; she instinctively knew that the sickly-sweet scent wafting from the open windows of her dwelling place was fear, and worry. All of her friends and loved ones were there, and she was too afraid to let them see how she was. But then again, she had been feeling like that since she had come back; now that she was dead again (and probably more permanently than last time), she could finally stop hiding her apathy and disgust she felt about this world and living in it. Not that she had to worry about _living_ in it anymore…

She could never be the sister that Dawn deserved. There was no way possible for her to keep her if she couldn't care for her, and she most certainly couldn't do _that_ if she was just as dark and evil as Spike had said she was.

And he was right.

She had to admit it to herself: now that she was dead again, the world felt good. But she couldn't ignore that there was still something inside of her that rejected the pleasure that she was feeling. That same something was weeping at the loss of her family and friends, who she had died for; they brought her back from the grave, but she had crawled right back in, and Buffy knew that there was no possibility that they would accept her as she was.

Only one person could. She was certain of it.

It was nearly sunrise; she had to go to him. There was no way that she would be able to survive in this world when there was a battle going on inside of her. Why he had turned her, she still didn't know, but she was certain that there was still, deep within him, the Spike that she knew... that she had started to care for…

Turning from her home and the warmth and comfort it had once offered, the Slayer disappeared back into the darkness she so desired.

* * *

He had no idea how long he had stood there, unseeingly staring at the still-open door to his crypt. His mind was locked in a moment hours earlier, a moment that seemed so unlikely that it could not have possibly happened. But the dried blood on his lips was testament to the reality, not to mention the infuriated Slayer that had been standing before him as a vampire.

He had done that to her. There was no other explanation. Why she hadn't killed him right then and there, he had no idea, but he knew what needed to be done. Spike couldn't live with himself after killing the woman he loved and cursing her to become a personification of death…

"Oh god," he groaned, sinking to his knees and covering his face with his hands, breathing deeply the oxygen he needed not, trying to make the remembrance of what he had done to Buffy disappear but unable to shake away the image of her dead, unseeing eyes locked on his.

How could this have happened? He remembered everything that had taken place, but the act itself felt as if it was done by another. But it was his hands that held her soft, petite body as his fangs plunged into the milky white skin of her neck. It was his blood that was intermingled with hers and stagnant in the delicate veins of her unliving body. It was on his lips that he could still taste the essence of her life.

For no man would her heart ever again skip a beat.

His own gaze flashed yellow and he abruptly rose to his feet. What he had done was real, unchangeable, and enormous. There was no action that would redeem himself. He had tried to change, to be a good man for Buffy so she maybe would see him as such one day. He had been there for Dawn through the long summer when he wished for nothing more than to let himself dust.

A strange chill went down his spine as an idea occurred to him. There was nothing more for him to do on this Earth. He had taken the most amazing woman in existence and turned her into a monster. Buffy Summers was no more.

He could feel the coming sunrise. When it arrived, he would be there to meet it. Maybe the light could somehow purge his sins from the darkness within.

* * *

The grass was damp as Buffy trudged through the cemetery, ignoring the path and cutting between the headstones as to reach Spike's crypt as soon as possible. As the sound of a birdsong pierced through the silence of the night, Buffy increased her pace, nearly running to the stone building of sanctuary.

It took her a moment to realize that the figure standing on the top of the crypt was Spike, his arms stretched out as if to welcome the coming light of day. The rapidly lightening sky contrasted with the dark leather of his duster, and finally the realization hit; before he even knew she was there, she had leapt on the building and was standing before him.

"You have to be strong, Spike!" she yelled, uncaring of how loud her voice was. Her fear of being alone in the new, unfamiliar world had seized her being, as well as her unacknowledged fear of losing him. As she roughly grabbed his arms, she tearfully exclaimed, "We can figure out what happened, but we have to do this together!"

He looked into her face, a curios expression on his own; it was fearful and apprehensive, like a kicked puppy that knew he had done something wrong. "I killed you, Slayer," he said simply. She drew in a sharp breath of air at what he had said, as well as how he had addressed her. "If you'd rather do this yourself," he indicated to the stake visibly emerging from her coat pocket, "I'd be glad to comply, but I can't live with myself after—"

"If you die, I don't think that _I_ would be able to live at _all,_ Spike!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion as the first tears leaked out of her eyes. "Well find this out together, I know we will, but right now I need you!"

As she fiercely spoke her last words, a strand of gold highlighted the sky. Staring into her eyes for one last moment, Spike mutely jumped down, Buffy following him as he strode into the crypt and shut the door against the light of day.

Neither looked at the other until Buffy spoke. "We both have no idea why this happened, Spike. Why you drank from me." A pause. "Why I drank from you." He looked up at the words and met her eyes as she finished. "It's not important."

"Buffy—"

"No." She took a few slow steps, meeting his gaze as she approached him. "I just need you here right now, Spike." Without another word, she fell into the cool, safe hold of his arms, wanting to disappear into his embrace and never have to face the reality of her existence.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Plot is coming soon! My brain has been dead, so if it's wonky, forgive me. :) Btw, I've never written or considered writing a Buffy vamp fic, so forgive me if it's weird. I just had an idea and decided to expand on it.

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_**What it is to Burn

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**__Chapter 3_

It was with shock that Spike found himself holding a distraught, unconscious Slayer in his arms. He gently lifted her still form and settled her onto the couch, knowing that the early awakening of her demon had exhausted her unadjusted body.

Moving quietly within the drafty room, Spike busied himself with preparing two mugs of blood, placing one in the refrigerator and the other in the microwave. The latter was for himself, but the first was for the currently reposed blond on his couch.

She had been lucky. As much as it stung to refer to her as such, it was true; most vamps awakened with an overpowering desire to feed, to kill as many innocents as possible and to bathe in their blood. Something had stopped that in Buffy, though; for all he knew, it was different with Slayers. This was the first incident _he_ had ever heard of one of the Chosen being turned, however, so he had no idea what it was like for her.

Emotionally, he had no idea what she was going through, especially when it came to her need for sustenance. He hadn't been exactly shy and demure, himself, while ripping the throat out of his first kill. A beautiful young girl, she was; Drusilla had taken her to him while the change was taking place, and he had seen her terrified eyes as soon as he had awakened. And her terror had invigorated him. Where the girl had come from, he had no idea, but beneath the terror there was almost a longing to make it all end… she had beckoned to him, and he answered her call of eternal sleep. The experience was all-encompassing in its enormity and had left him feeling more alive in death than he ever had in life.

Remembering his first words as a vampire to his mother, Spike smiled wryly and thought, _And all I could say was some bloody Shakespeare._

Settling himself on his sarcophagus and sipping his drink absentmindedly, he stared at the sleeping Slayer and waited. He may no longer be bound to mortal coil, but the heartache of life did not end with his death.

* * *

There was no peace, no moments of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. The moment her eyes closed and she fell into Spike, their shared nightmare was brought to life and she relived it, again and again, trying to ignore it initially but eventually giving into the terror and feeling her heart stop, his own blood in her mouth, the dimming of her life force and the awakening of her vampiric nature. 

And in her dream, she felt something more. Something that was deep within her in life, but that her own stubborn nature would not allow her to acknowledge. But it was stirring, now, growing too strong for her to ignore. The thirst, the desire… The craving for blood.

"No!" Buffy screamed. He was there at her side instantly, a concerned look in his blue eyes. She should have been more wary and fearful of him, considering his rather active role in her current torment, but she felt nothing but comfort from his presence. Blinking sluggishly, she tried to shake off the subject of her nightmare—until it was presented unceremoniously before her in a chipped porcelain mug. "No!" she shrieked again at the sight and smell of the blood, the monster within her taking hold of her consciousness and emerging in her features. As her limbs began to flail, Spike could do nothing but hold her down and murmur soft words of comfort in her ear, trying to calm the tortured Slayer. "Oh god, Spike," she moaned, falling limp in his arms as her fit subsided, her face returning to normal as she closed her eyes. She turned away from him and the mug of blood set gingerly on the floor, her blonde hair clinging to the sweaty skin of her neck.

The sight of her recently-made wound sent a pang through Spike's heart; he gently gripped Buffy's shoulders and turned her to face him again. "Buffy, you need to drink this," he said softly. She began to protest, but he cut her off. "This is who you are now."

Buffy's hazel eyes looked into his own, shining with repressed tears despite the darkened room. "Fine," she said wearily, reaching down for the cup and bringing it to her lips. She took a deep breath and let the liquid flow into her mouth.

In moments, the demon emerged once more and she was gulping the blood down greedily, tears leaking from her eyes mingling with the scarlet liquid dripping from the corners of her mouth. The cup finished in mere moments, she threw it to the side, roaring and leaping to her feet in search for more.

Spike stood as well, the drastic transformation of Buffy's character playing before his eyes and leaving him stunned, as well as entirely oblivious about what to do. The petite blonde stalked across the room to the refrigerator and threw it open, grabbing a bag from within and piercing the plastic with her fangs; this time, she spilled naught a drop, finishing the whole quantity of blood in a strangely polite manner contrary to the animalistic display of before. Wiping her mouth delicately, her human face emerged again; moments later, she fell to the floor limply.

Broken from his reverie, Spike was at her side in an instant, lifting her into his arms and brushing the hair from her face to reveal the scared expression on her face. "It's just so much, Spike," she choked out, the tears no longer falling but her sadness more than evident to the man holding her. They stayed still for a moment longer before she sat up, not moving from the circle of his arms until the crypt door opened unceremoniously, light entering the crypt and causing Buffy to press herself more firmly into his embrace. He tightened his grip protectively around her as he realized just who their visitors were.

"You in here, Spike?" Xander called out, Willow closing the door behind them as they strode into the dark room. It took them only a moment to see the two figures huddled together on the floor. "What are you doing to her?" he asked angrily, the genial nature vanishing as he recognized Buffy despite the fact that her face was currently buried against the crook of Spike's neck.

"Wait a minute there, mate," Spike said cautiously, sending a look to Willow who understood the seriousness of the situation and thankfully remained silent. "Something's happened, and Buffy isn't—"

"Buffy doesn't need to be helped by you, Spike, whatever happened to her!" Xander interrupted angrily, "And she definitely—"

He abruptly broke off as the Slayer turned her tired, blood-streaked face towards her friends and, leaving the comfort of Spike's arms, stood. "Listen to me," she said, her voice reflecting the exhaustion she felt. "I want you to leave right now."

Xander let out a disbelieving laugh and glanced at Willow, whose demeanor was much more serious. It seemed as if she had realized something, a horrible truth that she didn't want to acknowledge. "Let's do what Buffy says, Xander," she said carefully, searching her friend's face thoroughly while backing towards the door. "We know where she is now, and we can find her—"

"What the hell is going on, Spike?" Xander asked, ignoring his two friends as he focused his gaze on the peroxide blond still seated on the floor. Before Spike could answer, a flash of anger passed over Buffy's face and she vamped uncontrollably.

"_This_ is what's going on, Xander."

For a moment, the boy stood stock still, seemingly frozen to his spot in the room. Seconds later, he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him and leaving Willow in the crypt. The redhead gave Buffy one look of sympathy, her worst fear confirmed as she strode out the room behind Xander.

Silence filled the room for a few moments until Buffy spoke. "I'm alright, Spike." Knowing without looking the questioning expression that must have appeared on his face, she explained. "This had to happen sooner or later, and I knew when… when I changed that they would not be able to understand." Apart from the single falter in her sentence, her voice was clear and emotionless. Finally, she turned and looked down upon Spike's figure still seated on the floor. "I need to know that you'll be here for me, though."

Reaching upwards and taking her hand in his own, Spike pulled Buffy down to him and into his arms again. "Always, love. Always."

Unbeknownst to the pair, their emotional encounter was not between solely the two. Chucking to himself, the demon smiled, the scene he viewed in his mind exactly the sort that he wanted to see. "Not very long now," he murmured, caressing a white fang with his tongue, a leer making its way onto his face.


End file.
